In Fate's Hands
by Yesterdays-ambition
Summary: In fear of death, or perhaps it had been nothing more than a respectful acknowledgement of death’s impending arrival, a detective asks Roger to notify the founder of the orphanage that the most brilliant student they could produce would be his replacement
1. Chapter 1

In Fate's Hands

Disclaimer: Credit for all characters belongs to Tsugumi Ohba.

Summary: (Excerpt) In fear of death, or perhaps it had been nothing more than a respectful acknowledgement of death's impending arrival, this detective had asked Roger to notify the founder of this particular orphanage that the most brilliant student they could produce - a word Quillsh cringed at - should be his replacement.

* * *

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Find

-----

"There are three possible candidates," Careful hands sifted through files that had been previously locked away. "None of whom seem to be what you're looking for."

The papers consisted of the names of several children, their photos, and different assessments of their knowledge and comprehension ability. It was impossible for this man, who had nurtured these particular youths for no less than five years, to not feel disappointed. Their higher thinking could rival that of an accomplished, highly educated adult, though they were decades younger.

He had no choice but to state that they were not good enough.

"I see." Another voice responded with cool detachment. At least the conversation was made by means of a phone rather than face to face. His expression, filled with desperation, was becoming most unflattering for a man his age.

"They still have time to increase their marks. The eldest has eight months until graduation and-"

"Mr. Wammy," The voice was soft but demanded silence. "I'm appreciative of your efforts and continue to believe that you are the only one who can fulfill this task for me. This decision of mine cannot wait for eight months on a improbable lead."

"I understand." There was no clear reason for Quillsh to feel as though he needed to provide anything for the caller. Really, he was actually extremely opposed to the exchange that was occurring.

"I will be in contact with Roger tomorrow. He'll be able to provide alternative locations and further funds for you to resume your search."

"How much longer do you have?" Quillsh dropped his voice, concern hidden behind the words.

"How much longer?" His words were repeated back to him. After thoughtful consideration, the response Quillsh received was a simple: "Hopefully long enough to meet my successor."

"I'll try my hardest to make that happen."

"Please do." The voice grew hoarse before an attempt was made to clear his throat. "I'll establish lines of communication while I'm away."

"Alright. I hope they'll find improvement for the condition."

"Ah, me too. Goodbye, Mr. Wammy."

"Goodbye, L."

The phone was promptly returned to the receiver with a click. The children, whose playful laughter and indistinguishable discussions had apparently faded out during the call could be heard once again. From this distance, from where Quillsh could not see them, these noises were emitted from nothing more than carefree beings, kids. From in his office, he could go on thinking that he was providing an opportunity for a bright future for these orphans.

Instead, without even notifying them, Quillsh was deciding the future for one of them.

It had been a laborious and arduous task given to him by a mysterious detective who had loose connections with the director of Wammy's House in Winchester, Roger. In fear of death, or perhaps it had been nothing more than a respectful acknowledgement of death's impending arrival, this detective had asked Roger to notify the founder of this particular orphanage that the most brilliant student they could produce - a word Quillsh cringed at - should be his replacement.

It was true that Wammy's House made accommodations for the talented children left without a family. Talented was, of course , a gross understatement. By any measurement these kids were geniuses. They were not, however, property of Quillsh or the other staff to simply give away. It was pompous for this detective to act as though Quillsh could easily pick a substitute. It was made all the more difficult by L's refusal of the last dozen of children who had been suggested.

Quillsh made a rash decision to return to England in order to discuss the situation at hand directly with Roger. He would find more answers with his partner there then he would in America.

-----

"I just can't reveal much of anything to you at this time." Was the second sentence offered to Quillsh by Roger upon his arrival, only after a disconcerted and half-hearted apology.

"What the detective is doing is dangerous and you permitted him access to my children's records." He stated without emotion. It was often best to be approach these kinds of circumstances apathetically so as to avoid being led astray by anger.

"I was aware of this, but I can assure you that I have taken the precautions necessary to prevent harm from befalling any of them." Roger wrung his handkerchief in his hands nervously. "Else I would not have redirected him to you."

"Then please allow me to hear at least this much of your secret: exactly how long have you and the detective been planning this selection within my orphanage?"

"_Roger."_ A voice prevented an answer from being made. _"You have a call."_

Quillsh lowered his head, a signal that he did not mind if the phone was answered. Roger lifted the receiver with trembling hands, making sure to keep his voice low. After a bit of small talk, Roger moved once more to the phone and pressed a button, which Quillsh soon realized was for the speaker.

"_I'm surprised by your hasty travel plans, Mr. Wammy."_ The voice was clearly that of L's

"I'd been through three establishments in North America without discovering a single understudy for you. This is my oldest institution and therefore I believed it might grant us some direction."

"Actually, L, we were in the midst of a discussion cornering the wellbeing of the children. I was just giving surety to Quillsh…"

"_I expect that you will be upset with Roger, Mr. Wammy. This was not a request made, nor accepted by him. He was most resistant, actually." _A pause was made in which the detective cleared his throat. "_Now, I have a case I'm currently running in which a child's parents were both murdered. He is in the custody of social services pending the closure of this litigation. I'd like you to ensure that he is brought back to Winchester and assessed properly there."_

"You've found one on your own then?" Roger spoke hastily.

"_That is something I want you two to investigate."_

Quillsh listened patiently as the details of the case were granted to both he and Roger. There was something in the detective's tone that matched his own desperation that kept Quillsh from outright denying him of what he was asking. He would extend an offer to this unfortunate orphan, just as he would for any child who would fit in no where else.

Once the conversation was over, Roger gathered the essential documents required for the social workers. There was actually no reason to rush this adoption of the boy other than the sense of grief for him over the loss of both parents in such a horrendous way.

And so there was silence. It was deafening, the sound of nothing and all at once there was also something. Such contradictory sounds congregated within the mind of Quillsh - how far should this go? Was he thinking too lightly about this situation, not delving in deep enough to foresee the penalties of what he was about to do? His mind raced on. It was truly deafening.

"Roger, I want you to continue on. I'll only be a minute." Quillsh came to a stop and prayed that there wouldn't be a useless argument.

"A-Alright."

Out of the corner of his eye, Quillsh had seen the remnants of bright yellow ribbon on a doorstep of an apartment that had once been crudely cut off from public access with 'no trespassing' tape. They'd passed it without incident, leading Quillsh to believe that Roger hadn't notice the significance that the house held.

There had been an easier, shorter way from Wammy's House to their destination, though L specifically directed them out of that path and towards another. That had to have been the place where the boy lived.

Upon inspection, it was more of a lower middle-class townhouse than an apartment. The other three homes, the one above and two on the side, seemed to be empty, almost as if they had not been occupied even before this murder happened. The door that had once been barricaded was now devoid of markers signifying the atrocity that befell the family inside.

He placed a hand on the doorknob and was about to twist it when he realized someone was already in the house. Maybe he had been mistaken in his assumption.

The single occupant in the house was a boy. It was too dark to see any of his features, but he was sitting - no, he was crouched in the corner of the room, his hand brought close to his face.

"May I speak to your mother or father, young man?" Quillsh knew the child could clearly see him from the window. Fearing he hadn't heard him, he repeated himself but wasn't acknowledged in the least. "May I come in?"

Now that had gotten a reaction. The boy's head snapped up to watch the door. It hadn't been an agreement, per se, but there was definitely something peculiar about this child being alone so late at night in a home that had clearly been intruded upon weeks earlier.

Any doubts Quillsh had about this house _not_ being the location of the murder were quickly washed away. He stood between the door and the boy. The moonlight cast brightest on the floor between the them to illuminate the outline of what had been two bodies sprawled out in an act to escape. The blood hadn't even been rinsed away yet.

Thick black hair that looked as though no one had ever thought to run a brush or comb through shrouded the boy's face even further. Was this the child that L had instructed him to retrieve? Why was he still in the house and not with social services?

Quillsh swallowed down his nausea of the scene and stepped towards the child, only to have him stand and back away.

"We need to get you out of here," He explained calmly, reaching out a hand. Still nothing. "This is a crime scene." He further reasoned.

As he cautiously stepped forward he became all the more concerned when he noticed the child was without a shirt, exposing a horribly emaciated body. It was by the power of God that he was even standing without help. Quillsh forwent etiquette and grasped a thin arm with his hand, earning him a startled gasp from the child.

Black eyes stared up at him and despite the shocked cry he'd just received, the boy's face presented nothing. He could have been dead and the only difference in his facial appearance would have been closed eyes.

"Lets get out of here." Quillsh made careful strides out of the dark room and slipped back onto the road hopefully without anyone noticing. He needed to take this child back to social services and inform them of what had just happened.

This boy was clearly in mourning.

Continued


	2. False Pretense

In Fate's Hands

Disclaimer: If ownership changes, I'll let everyone know. Until then, it's the same as before.

Chapter 2: False Pretense

* * *

There had been something defiant in the eyes of that boy the night he had been found. The look so blatantly obvious now had been hidden in the shadows but probably more likely hidden by Quillsh's broken common sense.

He carried the child tucked unceremoniously under one arm, though hindsight later caused him to check the boy over once more in case he had caused some harm to his frail body.

Having operated several orphanages, Quillsh was well aware of the typical actions that a child would display as a reaction towards death. He had even calculated in room for variances in behavior, but there was nothing remotely typical about this boy.

They stood mere feet from the building where Quillsh hoped to learn his identity. Before he had been able to enter, however, he had lost his firm grasp and the dark haired youth slipped free. And now they stood across from each other once again - Quillsh situated in front of the door and the child in a position to escape.

A delicate equilibrium had been created by this uneasy battle of silence. Quillsh was highly pessimistic as to what could be accomplished by an attempt to persuade the boy to follow him into the building. A movement, a word, a single unusual breath would be enough to send the child in a scramble back into the depths of the city where he may never be found again.

It was not in his nature to negotiate with children, but Quillsh couldn't help but be impressed by this moment of rebelliousness. His appearance was just as peculiar as his actions, as if daring Quillsh to question anything and allow the boy a justified escape. He wouldn't have that though. He would remain quiet until an appropriate opportunity opened itself.

Cold back eyes flickered from the old man towards the entrance of the establishment. Unfortunately for both, this battle of patience had found its beginnings interrupted prematurely.

"There's a hotel nearby that I'm sure you're familiar with," Quillsh explained hurriedly as the intruder came closer. "I have business to take care of here, but if you wait in the lobby I doubt anyone would question you. If they do, just tell them your parents are staying there."

A tiny mouth opened slightly, though no attempts to speak were made. Doubt ran through Quillsh's mind in that instant. Maybe he was hoping for something that didn't exist in that child. Hoping that his intelligence was higher than his appearance would lead others to believe he had.

Once the door was open, skinny legs kicked at the ground, expertly navigating the graveled pathway opposite of Quillsh.

"I thought I saw you out here." Roger said, stepping back enough to allow his partner in. "They've signed everything and they'll be ready to move him in by the end of the week."

"What?" Quillsh stopped in his tracks and turned back to Roger.

"All the paperwork is done. The boy's name is…"

"He's here?"

"Of course, Quillsh. Where else would they keep an orphan?" A crease emerged between Roger's brows.

"I see. Let me pay a visit to him and we'll be on our way." He recovered his composure.

Mourning? That boy discovered in that house was not the same child the detective had directed them to. It would be too dangerous to mention what had taken place in that house, at least that's the conclusion Quillsh came to. Besides, it was only a regrettable mistake that someone of that age stumbled upon such a gruesome scene. Aside from assuring his mental stability, no harm was done.

---

Sure enough, the boy now on his way to becoming a resident and student of Wammy's House was not the same as the one who had recently run away. After a short exchange of pleasantries and a couple of formalities, Quillsh parted from the institution without a word about the earlier incident.

Quillsh accompanied Roger back to the orphanage, which afforded him enough time to make an excuse to keep from remaining there.

He found himself retracing his steps, deviating from this well known path only to reach the location of the previously mentioned hotel.

An overabundance of strategically placed lights and lamps helped illuminate the lobby in such a way that made the walls and interior decorations look golden. To his right was a couple, an older man and woman, who sat side by side, whose discussion carried on undisturbed by Quillsh's arrival. On the left was the cluttered room, gaudily ornamented with cheap copies of famous paintings and pinned to the wall by makeshift wooden frames. The paintings may not have been extravagant, but they obviously had a purpose and that was to hide the water stains and holes forming in the walls behind.

Cozy, Quillsh thought as he continued further. Low key places such as this typically had much friendlier people than the richer hotels. With that assumption, he greeted the couple with a smile as he lifted his hat respectfully from his head and held it to his side.

"I think my grandson may have wondered into here." He lied without so much as a twitch of his gentle eyes.

"Grandson?" The old man tapped his wrinkled chin thoughtfully as if the motion would aid him in remembering.

"Yes. He stands no taller than this," Quillsh lowered his hand to just above his knee, which was an exaggeration of the boy's true height so as to prove that he was still very young. "He has black hair and he's terribly thin, I'm afraid."

"I don't think I've seen such a person this evening."

"Is that so? Well, I better keep looking for him then. Thank you." Quillsh turned his back to the hotel keepers and began to leave before the sound of chair legs scraping across a wooden floor signified that the woman had stood up.

"I thought I saw a child not but an hour ago. I can't be sure of the description because he didn't come inside. Would you like me to contact someone?"

"That's quite alright, that won't be necessary. He knows his way around here very well, and I'm confident he's already beaten me to the park we were heading back from. It was irresponsible of me to keep him out this late, and his parents would be terribly upset with me if they learn about this."

"R-right." She seated herself in compliance and Quillsh exited.

"I couldn't go in there." The sound of a small voice came from beside potted plants on the porch.

"If it was so you would not be seen, you failed. The woman spotted you walking by anyways."

"Not just so I wouldn't be spotted." He unconsciously backed away as Quillsh moved forward. "If I hadn't left some clue that I had been here, you would have… disappeared."

He was right. On his way out, Quillsh had made up his mind that the black haired child was unfortunate, but was nothing special, for loss of a better word. He simply figured that he would not fit in with the rest of the gifted children of Wammy's House.

"I want to go with you." The words were not pleading, they were more of a demand.

"To the orphanage?"

"No." He cautiously walked up to Quillsh, his eyes locked with Quillsh's to study his reaction as he reached one small hand into the lower pocket of the elder's overcoat. From it, he retrieved a booklet containing a passport as well as the last ticket stub of travel. "I want to go to America."

Quillsh was speechless. He could have been a pickpocket, maybe he had been careless and the passport was slipping out, thus allowing the boy to catch glimpse of it, or maybe he was just lucky.

"Why?"

"I have business to take care of there." Bony fingers exposed to the evening cold reached up once more, winding themselves around the much larger, gloved hand belonging to Quillsh.

"You're presumptuous in thinking I plan to go so far out of the way." They began to walk into the refuge the darkened streets had to offer.

"That was a two way ticket." He said indifferently. "And I'm not a runaway. If I were to go with you, no one here would know of it."

"We'll check that out at the police station."

"They won't have a file on me." So Quillsh had been right when he saw defiance in his eyes. "I'm not from England."

Despite the situation and the underlying problems of it, Quillsh couldn't stop the chuckle that made its way out from his chest.

"How can I be sure you're not lying? Children aren't to be trusted in such matters."

"I'll tell you something valuable to you and the children you care for and in exchange, I want to be taken to the United States."

"If this is a threat-"

"No threat. On the contrary, you may be most relieved."

Surprise was not a word that gave justice to how Quillsh was feeling. He was extremely protective of all the children being kept in the Wammy's Houses across the globe. Logic would have him excuse his overbearing distrust because when it came right down to the facts, this was a nothing more than a child speaking rudely to him.

"I'm having the greatest difficulty pressuring the authorities to accomplish a simple request. I feel that having foreign pressure would do more than my remaining here. So do we have a deal, Quillsh Wammy?"

He was still laughing in the back of his mind, but for the sake of the people whom he held most dear, Quillsh nodded in agreement.

"You already know the circumstances of the young man you acquired this evening."

"I do. You know something about what happened to his family?"

"Yes." His response was followed by a cough. "I first learned of this murder about two weeks ago, but arrived too late and most of the evidence had already been carelessly removed by the policemen here. As such, even when I hid myself and spoke through someone else, the police refused to suspect the criminal I found."

Ludicrous. Just who in the world did this boy think he was? A detective? This was going beyond a sick game and Quillsh couldn't let it happen.

"Listen, what you're saying-"

"It was when they were interviewing their child that I learned of your orphanage. I admit that I'm fascinated." A tiny finger found its way into the boy's mouth. "I had no doubts that a man responsible for such an enterprise would have intelligence that surpassed the police. The police would believe your word over mine, since you are a well known gentleman here in Winchester.

"It was then that I contacted a man named Roger, who brought me one step closer to you. I couldn't outright tell him what my plans were. It would only be natural that he, as you might find yourself doing now, would be unconvinced by my accusations if you saw who I was. I also considered going through one of your highly educated pupils, though this plan failed to turn out any suitable contenders.

"About a year ago, the courts excused a man charged with the murder of three co-workers, but due to insubstantial evidence obtained, he was released. Once I knew who he was after his latest killing, and only after I couldn't use the children at the Wammy's House nor convince the police on my own, I told him they would send him to his death if they could also pin the murders of the three previous men and women. I alone had that evidence and with that information, I used him to contact you under a false name."

"A false name?"

"He contacted you with the pseudonym of…"

"L." Quillsh completed. "You're the detective, L."

"I assure you that this was entirely necessary. I cannot permit a murder of this caliber to be allowed free because of human error. The authorities here won't charge this man, and so the police of the United States will be more than happy to take over. They're very image conscious and to be able to succeed where England failed would inflate their ego as well as serve my purpose."

Amazing. The young boy droned on, explaining the details and evidence, and revealed the name of the murderer.

Quillsh was thoroughly convinced that there was no prank, that it was not a sick joke. He had dealt with clever children, so many that to speak to a 'normal' child was often a difficult task. But this boy was different.

Quillsh grasped his hand tighter and decided to forgo a trip back to the Winchester Wammy's House. There was a more pressing matter to deal with in the United States.

He pulled out a small jacket he had meant to give to the boy he believed 'L' had sent him to adopt and gave it to the wild-haired youth. They sat in silence and Quillsh pulled out a laptop he always carried with him. Programs were encrypted, designed by this old man and veiled from the world behind the name of Quillsh Wammy. He was an inventor, after all, and who would believe he had these potentially illegal programs on him with such a well-respected name? He started to make a passport for the boy.

"What is your name?"

To that, there was more silence. It was like the boy had lost interest in talking to him.

"What name should I put here?" Quillsh tried again, pointing at the blinking cursor under which a name was needed.

"Whatever suits your lies."

"To be deceptive is to be one step ahead of your adversaries and those who wish to hinder your path. If you cannot remember your name, I will make one for you."

"L."

"They won't let you into the United States with a name like that. They'll assume you're a terrorist."

"While in Romania, I was called Danuve."

"You must have been born there then. You certainly look Romanian." Quillsh found himself smiling. The boy found no humor in the statement and chose to ignore it. Quillsh began gathering his things but was stopped by a hand on his jacket when he tried to stand. "Your passport will be waiting for us when we arrive at the airport."

"Lawliet." He said, or more like he mouthed since he voice was so soft Quillsh had hardly heard. "Please do not repeat it to anyone, not even those of whom you deem trustworthy. I don't mind if you use it so long as no one can hear."

"Alright, Lawliet."

"And I'm not Romanian."

---

Continued

----

> Heh, I guess I'm getting pretty predictable in my writings because as it turns out, that L was not L at all. I'm a little embarrassed that the plot for that was figured out so easily, though it did bring up a question from me. I'm new to Death Note, so I was wondering if L. Lawliet is indeed the first L? I mean, an argument can be made either way unless there's proof I suppose.

> I included the Romanian thing because I was researching (excuse me as I push up my nerdy glasses) L's aliases and their origins. I chose Danuve because between that and Erald Coil, I thought it was more fitting for a foreigner traveling to the United States. The closest name to Danuve turned up with Romanian origins. It felt… fitting for me in any case, but like he said, he's not from there.

> I'm flattered by the reviews I received. I brought this up in my other story that writing for an anime that isn't as well known brings about a good dose of humility. But the reviews I've received are awesome, they're detailed and make me want to continue writing even if there isn't an surplus of reviews. So really, thanks to Lone.L, Mistake-kun, and Spinereader for taking the time to say something. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!

> I actually got the idea from a doujin I read where Watari is hired by L as an assistant. It's actually very cute but since I don't have permission from the creator, I'll refrain from stating the name of it here. It's pretty simple to find though. But little L was exceedingly smart while still acting every bit his age, which I hope to portray in chapters to come. Everyone's at least a little interested in his origins, right? I mean, if we can move on from his fan-created love with Light… (heh, also very guilty of)

> And… I actually meant to save the title for this chapter for a chapter in my other story. This one just got written earlier. Easy come, easy go.


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